Page 89 of Knot on the Market

"Morning," I say, moving to the coffee pot. "How was your shift?"

"Quiet night," Dean says, glancing over his shoulder with that warm smile that never fails to make my heart flutter. "Just a couple minor calls. Figured I'd come make you breakfast before heading home to crash."

The thoughtfulness, coming here tired from work just to make sure I'm fed makes my chest tight with affection. "You didn't have to do that. You must be exhausted."

"Never too tired to take care of you," he says simply, and the casual way he says it, like it's the most obvious thing in the world, makes my heart do silly things.

Another curse from the living room, this one definitely audible, makes Dean grin. "Callum's been fighting with that window trim for twenty minutes. The wood's old and stubborn."

"Maybe he needs some help," I say innocently, taking my coffee toward the living room.

I find Callum kneeling by the front window, toolbox open beside him and flannel shirt straining across broad shoulders as he works. There's something incredibly appealing about watching him in his element. Competent and focused, those capable hands wielding tools with the precision that comes from years of experience.

He's trying to nail a piece of trim back into place, but the old wood keeps splitting despite his careful efforts. I can see the frustration in the set of his shoulders, the way his jaw clenches when the nail goes crooked again.

"You know," I say, settling onto the couch with my coffee for a perfect view, "I think you're holding your hammer wrong."

Callum pauses mid-swing, shoulders tensing. "Excuse me?"

"Your grip," I say with fake helpfulness. "It's all wrong. You're supposed to choke up more on the handle for better control."

He turns to look at me over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. "Lila, I've been using hammers since before you could walk."

"Hmm," I say thoughtfully. "Maybe that's the problem. Old habits die hard."

The look he gives me could melt steel, but he turns back to his work. Three more careful taps, and the trim piece splits again.

"See?" I say brightly. "Definitely the grip. You're putting too much force behind it instead of letting the weight of the hammer do the work."

"Lila." His voice carries a warning that sends heat curling through my stomach.

"I'm just trying to help," I say innocently. "Maybe if you adjusted your stance too? You're all hunched over. No wonder you can't get the right angle."

Callum sets the hammer down very carefully and turns to face me fully. There's something predatory in his movement, like a wolf who's finally had enough of being poked.

"You want to show me the proper technique?" he asks, voice deceptively calm.

"I couldn't," I say with false modesty. "I'm sure a big, strong man like you knows exactly what he's doing with his...tools."

The way I say 'tools' makes his eyes darken, and I see the exact moment he realizes I'm not actually critiquing his carpentry skills.

"You think you're funny," he says, rising slowly to his feet.

"I think I'm helpful," I correct, setting my coffee down. "Though I suppose if you're too proud to accept constructive criticism..."

I don't get to finish because suddenly he's moving, crossing the room in three quick strides. Before I can react, his hands are braced on the couch on either side of me, caging me in with his broad frame.

"You want to critique my technique?" he asks, voice low and rough. "Fine. Let me show you exactly how I handle things."

His mouth crashes against mine with desperate hunger. The kiss is possessive, demanding, and absolutely perfect. His tongue sweeps into my mouth like he's claiming territory, and I can taste coffee and want and something purely Callum.

I grab the open edges of his flannel shirt, pulling him closer, and he responds by gripping my waist and hauling me up from the couch. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively, and he carries me the few steps to the wall, pressing me against it.

"Fuck," he breathes against my mouth, hands sliding up my sides. "Do you know how long I've wanted to do this? How many times I've imagined having you against this wall?"

I can't form words because his thumbs are circling my nipples through the thin cotton of Dean's t-shirt, sending electricity straight to my core. All I can do is arch into his touch and make embarrassing whimpering sounds that seem to drive him wild.

"That's it," he murmurs, mouth moving to my throat. "Let me hear how much you want this."